


A Cold Day in Hell

by skund



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skund/pseuds/skund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman is convinced the world would be a better place if everyone just shut up and did what he said. Superman is not so sure. Written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/cliche_bingo/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/cliche_bingo/"><strong>cliche_bingo</strong></a> prompt 'Sleeping Arangements'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cold Day in Hell

You wouldn’t think hell would be so cold. Bruce sat shivering in his torn armour as the iron bars dug into his back. His hips were aching as the stone floor sucked the heat from his flesh and as the adrenalin ebbed away to leave only exhaustion and pain.

“Sure, we’ll go charging guns blazing into Apokolips. That’s a great plan Superman; it’s always worked so well for us in the past. Nothing can go wrong.” He muttered into the dim cell. “Christ, now I’m talking to myself.”

He rubbed his face with a hand, the drying flecks of blood itching as they flaked off. His eyes ached. His head ached. Only the stabbing pain from his mangled leg kept him conscious as he sat in the quiet, dripping dark.

That and his need to mark the shallows breaths that barely moved Clark’s chest. Bruce’s eyes hardly strayed from the crumpled form that lay against the opposite wall. It was always surreal so see Clark battered and beaten. Someone so strong and so full of life should never be so broken. But he was alive and that’s all that truly mattered. Bruce watched Clark as if the intensity of his gaze could help him heal, make him continue to draw breath.

Bruce sometimes fancied, usually after a few too many brandies, that he’d go mad without Clark. Loose all grip on the world and go waltzing off into uncharted insanity. But then, pinning your mental health on other person isn’t exactly sane, now was it? Bruce tried not to think about it. Never talked about it. He’d kill anyone who did. But sitting here with his head pounding and the smell of Clark’s blood filling his nose and Clark’s breath in his lungs it was hard not to… to… think. Yes, that was it. Think about Clark and everyone else in the League, what was going to happen next, how he was going to save their sorry arses and what an epic balls-up this whole mission had been.

His eyes slid closed, blue and red burned against his eyelids, to rest. Just rest. Just for a bit.

\---

He jerked awake at the sound boots scraping against concrete, opened his eyes to meet a concerned blue gaze.

“Bruce?”

He grunted, throat dry and raw. The pain in his leg suddenly pierced the veil of sleep and he winced. Certainly didn’t wimper.

“You’re bleeding.” Clark’s voice was broken and weak. Water, they needed water. And a way off this forsaken planet.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not Bruce. Come here and lay down.”

Warm arms tried to enfold him, pull him into that warm, bloodied chest. “No.” Bruce pushed him away, appalled at how easy it was. Clark was more hurt than he was letting on. Well, that made the two of them. “Leave me alone. You need to rest, Superman. Go back in your corner and sleep. We’ll need your strength to get out of here.”

Clark scrutinized him and Bruce was thankful that he still had his cowl, could still give a decent glare. Clark sighed heavily. “Fine.” He crawled gingerly back to his previous resting place, using his hands as much as his feet. Bruce almost cringed in sympathy. Clark fell into a resigned silence and Bruce could resume his quiet watch on Clark’s soft breaths. Regular as his own heartbeat. More so, probably. Bruce was mentally debating whether going sentimental was worse than going senile when his thoughts ebbed away and he feel into a deep, dreamless sleep.

\---

He awoke gently, warm and contained. There was radiant heat all along his front, softness under his head. Sleep clung to him tightly and clawing as his exhausted mind and he reveled in its comfort. Bruce exhaled slowly as joints stiff and aching from the cold started to move again as they warmed. The heat against him shifted and something touched his forehead, tender even through the cowl. He leaned up into the touch, seeking it. The other moved and then there were lips underneath his own. He licked at them softly, then sucked the lower lip into his mouth before opening his lips for a full kiss. It wasn’t good; both their lips were dry and chafed, tasting of blood and sweat and stale air. But it was heat and touch, warmth in the dark that seeped down his spine and made his heart beat.

There was an arm around Bruce’s shoulders that pulled him closer, and of its own accord his hand curled around a bicep, solid under his touch. The sleep haze was slipping from his mind and Bruce was starting to form a pretty good picture of who was curled around him so enticingly. He tapered off the kiss and opened his eyes.

“You never listen to a damn thing I say, do you?” he rasped.

Clark was grinning down at him like an idiot. “What are you going on about now?”

“I told you to stay in your corner.”

Clark raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You want me to go?”

Bruce snorted.

“You want me to stay?” Clark asked with a dazzling smile.

“I want people to listen to what I say.”

Clark rolled his eyes.

“And I want to people to listen to what I don’t say.” Bruce added, pressing his cheek against Clark’s.

Clark pulled him even closer, reaching up to kiss him on the forehead again. “You’re a madman, you know.”

Oh. Clark knew.

Bruce huffed. Too late now. If the damn fool ever looked before he leaped he wouldn’t end up in a gaol cell in the seventh circle of hell, or cuddling with madmen. “And you know what else? I want to get off this god-awful rock.”

Clark chuckled. “We can do that.” Clark’s quiet conviction was as warming as his hands on Bruce’s back. “And while we’re making demands, I want to have a decent talk about this when we get back.”

Bruce was silent.

“Not like after the last three midst-of-battle kisses.”

“Fine.” Bruce muttered into Clark’s chest. “Bastard.”

Clark smirked. “Good. Let’s get out of here.” Clark disentangled himself and climbed to his feet, offering Bruce a hand. Batman glared at the offending offer before accepting it, being pulled to his feet with a grunt. Bruce got the feeling he’d be the subject of many such indignities from Clark from now on. The part of his mind that was quietly looking forward that that was clearly insane.


End file.
